Some family recipes aren't written down. They're whispered across deli counters.
Originally Post Date: 04.29.2021. Revised: 07.19.2025.
It occurred to me that my family traditions had become like a tree whose leaves were shedding—slowly at first, and then at record pace.
As family members moved across the country to live their own lives—or the Universe recalled its elders—there didn’t seem to be a reason to keep the traditions going. There just wasn’t anyone to “tradition” with anymore.
Since most of our rituals centered on recipes verbally passed down from one generation to the next, it became easy to let them go. I couldn’t remember all the ingredients, and more importantly, I had lost the passion and desire to cook or bake. Why make a five-course dinner for a party of one—especially when that “one” is also the chef, sous-chef, server, diner, and bus person?
Second—and more important—there wasn’t anyone to share the ritual with. And that ritual always included a tried-and-true script, as much a part of the tradition as the baking itself. It went something like this:
“For Pete’s sake, how many more of these do we have to make?”
“Another dozen.”
“Next year, we’re cutting the recipe in half.”
“Absolutely. Next year, we’re only making half as many.”
And of course, the following year, we made even more.
Except this year. This year, I asked my friend of mine to start a new ritual with me: resurrecting some of our mothers’ and grandmother’s recipes. She’s a chef—pastries are her specialty—so who better to guide us?
We started with my mom’s Fiatoni, one of the few recipes I had managed to write down many years ago. Fiatoni is a sweet, cheese-filled pastry traditionally made during Easter week, but we decided to make them a little early.
First challenge: finding two key ingredients: diced citron and fresh cheese.
I couldn’t find citron in any grocery store, but Amazon came through. The “fresh cheese” was a different story. Unless you know somebody who knows somebody, you won’t find anyone who understands what you’re talking about. It’s like an Abbott and Costello routine:
“Do you carry fresh cheese?”
“What kind of fresh cheese?”
“Fresh. I need fresh cheese.”
“All our cheeses are fresh—what kind do you want?”
Aaand repeat.
Since I’m a poor candidate for stand-up comedy, the week before we planned to bake, I went to the Italian specialty store near me. This time, the conversation went like this:
“I’d like to order fresh cheese.”
“Are you making Fiatoni?”
“Yes.”
“It’s too early to make Fiatoni. We get the fresh cheese during Easter week. Come back then. Ask for me—Bruno."
*I’ll make sure I keep some for you in the back.”
“Well, I was hoping to make some next week. Do you have any in stock?”
“What we have, you don’t want.”
“I don’t?”
“No. No, you don’t.”
Suddenly, I’m channeling Carmela Soprano.
I ordered some for the following week anyway. And Bruno delivered. But before placing the cheese in the bag, he leaned over the deli counter and whispered, “It’s a week too soon to make Fiatoni, you know.”
I did the walk of shame to the register. Baking Fiatoni a week early. May every Italian grandmother who’s gone on to meet Jesus forgive me.
Back in my car, I slowly opened the bag to confirm that what I call fresh cheese is what Bruno calls fresh cheese. It was.
Here’s the secret: commercially, it’s called “basket cheese.”
Anyway, we gave it a go, and for a first attempt, I think we did really well. If you’re brave enough to try it, the recipe is below.
Just tell Bruno, Katharine sent you.
Fiatoni Recipe
(Makes 12, or maybe 24—or more—depending on how wide you roll the dough.)
Filling
6 lbs fresh cheese (aka basket cheese – grate it before using)
4 lbs ricotta (drain well or the filling gets soggy)
½ lb diced citron (ordered from Amazon)
½ box golden raisins
Zest of 1 lemon
1 Tbsp lemon juice
2 cups sugar
11 jumbo eggs
11 jumbo egg yolks (not a typo – 22 eggs total for this part)
Mix all in a big bowl. (“Big” being the key word. We used a pasta sauce pot.)
Dough
14 jumbo eggs (add one at a time or risk egg runoff)
1 cup sugar
¾ cup milk
½ cup liquid lard (optional – Mom says this was Dad’s contribution; so we skipped it)
Zest and juice of ½ lemon
7 cups flour
Mix everything on a board. Divide dough into sections, roll one at a time.
Add filling, fold dough over into a half-circle. Twist the edges closed using egg whites as glue. Brush tops with more egg white. Snip steam vents in the top using scissors. Each one should look like the capital letter “D.”
Bake at 350°F until golden—about 25 minutes per pan.
Let cool. Best served chilled. Enjoy with coffee, tea, Frangelico, Amaretto, Sambuca, Limoncello, or whatever your heart (and heritage) desires.
What's a family recipe you thought you'd forgotten, but can still pull off if you need to?
“Tradition!” — music by Jerry Bock, lyrics by Sheldon Harnick, from the musical Fiddler on the Roof (book by Joseph Stein), originally produced on Broadway in 1964.
